African. Black. Girl. Not a Supporting Role.

I still want you near

I still want you here

Please stop pulling away, I thought you said you’d stay.

I wish you’d still look at me.

maybe if they solely stopped seeing Black women as magic but also real they’d stop thinking they have claim to our bodies

maybe if our big asses never led to us being called bumble bees they would have been better appreciated until they were seen on a Kardashian

maybe if my body wasn’t the site where they directed their sexual frustrations at, I would never have seen a white woman’s and thought it an aspiration

maybe if I stopped caring so hard they’d think it’s okay to continue

to steal;

our hair,

style,

accents,

heroes,

histories

and food.

give it a new name and Christopher Columbus the whole thing and say “look what we discovered happens to the chicken when you add some seasoning to it”

Yes we know it tastes better.

But they’ll forever see us in that dimly lit light, where only a few of us are allowed to shine

and the rest of us are left with hardly a food, history, heroes, accent, style, hair nor body to call mine.

- image: Michaela Coel; photographed by Joshua Kissi

Britney Spears

i’ve lost her again. 

if found please return me to my mother. 

I’m experiencing it again, that unexpected wave of sadness that manages to find me.

leaving me vulnerable. so I decided to write about it today. I struggle to talk about it and it weighs so heavy in my heart sometimes I wish it stop beating so I could get some reprieve.

Sampha’s “No One Knows Me (like the piano)” just came on shuffle and I started crying. No one knows me. There is not a single person or thing I can turn to in my moments of self-hate and doubt. I think I’m going to burst one day with everything I’m keeping inside. But I know I can’t afford to - literally we’re going through yet another rough patch at home I would feel selfish if I had to defer funds we don’t have to myself and my inability to control myself.

I just wish I could stop it all, these feelings the pain. It’s under the surface and I fear what would happen the day I let myself feel EVERYTHING. It hurts sometimes, and it scares me because I know I‘m still not experiencing it all.

Am I stronger than my trauma? I don’t know.

The memories make it worse. I wish I wasn’t so observant, so silent. so many things I wish I hadn’t seen. too young. someone protect me please. from myself. where are the adults? I’m the adult here.

someday I’ll write about my dad. how I love him. how I hate him a lot. how I love him even more than that. the name calling, the fights, the loneliness. the silences, the alcohol. the addiction. Christmases, New Years. Why I hate holidays. Why Christmas is my least favourite holiday. the bruises, the door. the window. the isolation. never being able to let people in.

MY MOM. i’m sorry. i’m sorry/ i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry. i wish you had a better daughter. i’m glad you have a better daughter. i ‘m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. please let me be. are you proud of me? it’s not your fault. i’m sorry your first love turned out like this. i’m sorry the cards life dealt you. i’m sorry for everything you sacrifice and endure. i’m sorry your body is the sacrifice for us to live. and yet here i am not living. mama, i ‘m sorry. i wish i could tell you how much you mean to mean. i ‘m so sorry. i’m so sorry.